


The Boyfriend Bet (in which almost everyone is wrong and Adam is confused)

by staringat_stars



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Bets & Wagers, College Student Adam Parrish, M/M, Ronan Lynch Visits Adam Parrish at College/University, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish Fluff, adam goes to college!, adam is Soft (TM), and causes mass confusion among his friends, gambling is bad kids (unless you're betting on the identity of your friend's mysterious boyfriend)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 21:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18240344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringat_stars/pseuds/staringat_stars
Summary: Adam's college friends have been trying to work out the identity of his mysterious Irish farmer road-racing tattooed Latin-prodigy boyfriend. There may or may not be a large betting pool at stake. Adam may or may not be completely oblivious to all of this.





	The Boyfriend Bet (in which almost everyone is wrong and Adam is confused)

I mean, sure, Adam Parrish was gay. That much his friends could agree on. (He would have told them, awkwardly, that he was actually, technically, bisexual, if they’d asked him. Which they didn’t – speculation was more fun.) But there was a _significant_ betting pool on the identity of his mystery boyfriend.

This was at least partly Adam’s fault. Although he was polite and nice and fairly good at holding a conversation, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming about ‘back home’. What tidbits his college friends had squeezed out of him painted a… confusing picture, to say the least.

After a drunken pass at a house party in the first week of college, Adam had gently told Elijah, an English major he’d met that day, that he was flattered, but he had a boyfriend back in Virginia. Too drunk to be much hurt by this revelation, Elijah had merely said “Lucky guy” and carried on dancing, their friendship unaffected. 

Ben, Adam’s roommate and a History-major hockey player Gansey would have taken to immediately, had confirmed that Adam sometimes phoned someone late at night to talk to, who appeared to be the boyfriend Adam had alluded to at the party, as he had heard Adam hang up the phone with an “I love you”, but he had little more to offer, as the phone calls were irregular and Adam often walked outside to talk.

 

A key piece of evidence in the debate was the single photo stuck to the wall on Adam’s sparsely-decorated side of the room. It was a group photo of Adam in what appeared to be some sort of old-fashioned yet expensive-looking car, riding shotgun next to someone with carefully tousled hair and wire-framed glasses, a phone jammed against his ear as he drove. Behind them, a short girl with choppy hair and stunningly purple tights paired with a crochet jumper grinned at the camera as she sat in the lap of an Asian boy with alarmingly spiked hair. Crammed next to them was a small, slightly faded-looking boy smiling shyly at the camera, and then a tall, muscular teenager sporting a buzzcut and all black clothing, scowling at the camera and seemingly about to swipe it from Adam’s hands.

Adam’s college friends all disagreed on which, if any, of the individuals in the photo could be Adam’s boyfriend. Elijah and Becca, a girl on the same floor as Adam and Ben who had some classes with Adam, maintained it was the ‘Presidential-looking one’ in the driver’s seat. “He looks so squeaky-clean and studious,” Becca insisted, “they complement each other so well!” 

Oscar, a quieter boy with large tortoiseshell glasses and the room adjacent to Adam and Ben’s, was convinced it was the ‘small, slightly smudgy-looking one in the middle’. “Look at his smile! They’re obviously in love.” Was his sustained defence, to the derision of the others.

Only Ben was unsure, refusing to commit to one figure in the photograph. The debate was further confused one morning when he reported to the others that he was fairly sure Adam’s boyfriend was a farmer, or some kind of livestock keeper. Or possibly a really militant vegan. These conclusions had arisen the previous night, when he had walked into their shared room to find Adam googling a dairy farmers conference in the neighbouring town, and had just responded “my boyfriend –” (and Ben could tell that either they were pretty new to this relationship, or Adam was really into this guy, because Adam’s cheeks unconsciously tinged red when he referred to his mystery partner as such) “–mentioned he was going, I was trying to see if I could meet him there.” Ben’s eyebrows raised slightly – but to his credit, only slightly – as he processed this information.

“Cute date.” He eventually responded. Adam didn’t seem to hear; a slight secret smile on his lips and a faraway look in his eyes. Ben left him to it, used to his roommate spacing out on him, a slightly otherworldly expression on his face.

 

The next morning, as Adam’s flatmates lounged around the kitchen waiting for their friend to come back from a lecture before they headed off to see a film, (a feat in itself, to drag Adam away from his books for any reason) Ben shared his new hypothesis with the group. In response to this new information, Becca theatrically put her head despondently in her hands. “No, no, no. He can’t be a farmer. We only just figured out he’s a car-racing Irishman. Whose name may or may not be Ronan. Possibly.” 

“The brown-haired driver guy in the front seat doesn’t look like much of a farmer,” added Elijah thoughtfully, “unless he’s one of those rich people who buy a farm as a hobby.” There were various noises of agreement at this.

 

A week later, the group were no closer to finding the truth. Becca and Elijah were discussing tattoos in the communal kitchen, scrolling through pinterest boards and tattoo parlour websites to find inspiration. Adam, swinging by to make himself a sandwich before he left for an afternoon class, came in as they were discussing options for where to put a tattoo. Elijah was set on an upper-arm tattoo, while Becca was considering a back tattoo, or possibly one on her ribcage. Adam, adding to the conversation as he cut thin slices of cheese, casually dropped in “Ronan has a back tattoo. He won’t admit it, but it must have been painful as fuck.” Elijah and Becca looked at each other, startled by this new crumb of information, but Adam had strolled out the door before they had the chance to ask him any questions.

“President-guy doesn’t look the type to have a back tattoo.” Elijah said mournfully. 

“Maybe he’s one of those secret rebels, who look All-American Boy on the outside but then have defiant streaks inside of them.” Becca countered hopefully. “Or maybe he got it on a drunken night out?”

 

The group were in the library together discussing weekend plans while purportedly writing essays when Adam looked up from his meticulous hand-written notes to offhandedly announce that his boyfriend was coming up from Virginia to see him on Friday.

The group collectively stared at him in shock for a moment, but Becca recovered first. “You mean we finally get to meet your mystery Irish farm boy? I can’t wait!”

Adam laughed, bemused at his friends’ reactions. “Well, Ronan–” (Elijah grinned triumphantly at Oscar as the dispute over Adam’s boyfriend’s name was finally settled.) “–isn’t so great at meeting new people, but yeah, he’ll be hanging around our dorms for the weekend, if that’s ok.”

Ben put down his biro. “Sure, I’ll stay with Oscar for a few nights, no problem, man.” He winked at Adam. “Let you guys have some space to yourselves.”

Adam’s cheeks flushed pink. “Oh, he was just gonna stay in a hotel or something but – that’s really nice of you. Thanks.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Guess I’d better buy some ear plugs for the two of us then. There’s only one wall between us, remember!”

Adam’s cheeks were now stained a vivid red colour as he stuttered a denial, but the rest of the group was already laughing, contributing several more innuendo-laden jokes before Adam stood up, his face scarlet. “I’m – I’m going to get a coffee.” he spluttered, before hastily retreating from his friend’s catcalls.

 

Friday arrived quickly, and the bets on the identity of Ronan soared from two dollars to fifty. Ben, pressed to make a final decision, decided to back the ‘scary skinhead guy’, as Becca described him, although the others ridiculed him soundly for his choice.

 

That evening, Adam was ostensibly working on an essay as Ben threw a few things into a bag. In reality, Adam was nervously twirling a pen between his long fingers, alternating between staring into space and checking his phone. Eventually, he gave up any pretence of doing the essay, closing his textbooks and putting his notes back into his well-ordered folder. He was in the middle of reorganising his sparse stationary when his phone vibrated. Adam jumped a little, glancing at the phone before shoving it into his pocket and practically sprinting out the door. The sound of the door in the hallway being hastily slammed shut was enough to make Becca and Elijah poke their head out of Oscar’s room, where they’d been chatting.

“Does that mean Ronan has arrived then?” Becca asked, to the air more than anyone else. Adam and Ben’s door opened again, as Ben emerged with a bag for his toiletries and clothes, and his hockey bag, complete with stick.

“Was it necessary to bring your hockey gear across as well?” Oscar asked.

Ben shrugged. “I don’t want to be the one to walk in on anything.” He replied, throwing his stuff onto the vacant bed opposite Oscar’s.

Becca opened the curtains to peer into the darkening courtyard. “Hey, reckon he’ll meet him round the front or back of the building? I want to see.”

“What, you’ve got a voyeur kink now?” Elijah snorted, but nevertheless joined her at the window. They saw Adam, standing to one side of the courtyard with his back to them. All united in peering into the dusk, waiting for Ronan to arrive. After a tense minute, Elijah gasped. “Hey – shit, there’s a thug sneaking up on Adam. See, round the back, that skinhead guy?”

Ben surged for the window to see a muscular man with a buzzcut, wearing all-black clothes approaching Adam stealthily from the shadows. “Fuck!” Ben exclaimed, spinning away from the window to grab his hockey stick, gripping it like a weapon.

He was halfway out the door before a screamed “WAIT!” from Becca stopped him in his tracks.

 She made some sort of unholy squeal. “They’re – they’re _kissing_!”

 “Fuck – fuck, I don’t believe it. We owe Ben fifty bucks.” Elijah said, disbelief colouring his voice.

 Ben dropped the stick with a clatter and ran back to the window, unashamedly pressing his face against the cool glass. There, illuminated by the streetlight, was their friend Adam, kissing a tall, powerful-looking guy in a leather jacket, his shaven head standing out against the dark.

 

“Ok – ok, this feels weird now. Guys, can you step away from the window? I don’t think Adam would want us to watch him make out with his hot skinhead boyfriend.” Oscar said, breaking the moment of stunned silence.

The four of them sat down heavily on the beds, trying to reconcile their picture of Adam – their kind, quiet and intensely studious friend, who stood on the edge of groups, had a habit of picking at the sleeves of his sweaters when nervous, and had been known to wear cardigans, with this dark, dangerous-looking guy who looked like he rode a tricked-out motorcycle and spat at nuns. Eventually, Elijah broke the silence by grudgingly pulling out a few crumpled notes from his pocket, elbowing Becca and Oscar to do the same. “Honestly, fuck you, Ben. I thought you picked the buzzcut guy as a joke. Now I can’t afford pizza for like, a month.” Said Becca mournfully, patting down her pockets.

Ben pocketed the money happily. “Sucks to be you, Becca. But maybe I’ll let you have a slice of mine next time.” He blew her a kiss.

 

Their bickering was interrupted when the door to the stairs opened, and Adam and Ronan appeared outside their open door. Adam looked… more vivid. Before he’d looked tired; dark circles under his eyes from too many late nights finishing assignments, pale skin from staying inside libraries hunched over his second-hand laptop as word processor hummed and whirred, even as everyone else chatted in the grass or benches outside. But now, his eyes were bright, his cheeks decidedly pink, his lips bruised. He was smiling, achingly so, but with a self-conscious tint, knowing he was embarrassingly happy to see his boyfriend after two long months without him. His hand was entwined with Ronan’s, fingered clenched tightly together.

Ronan, for his part, looked like the same arrogant, brash teen he had been when they’d first met at Aglionby. But Adam now knew him well enough to see behind the hard defence Ronan put up for everyone. He knew now that the slight smirk was a result of a lack of confidence, not an excess of it, and the tightness with which Ronan held his hand was equal parts protective and desiring of protection. Ronan was always contrary with public affection; reluctant but also decisive. He’d hated it, at first, would refuse to walk as much as next to Adam. But then he changed his mind; fiercely, he held his hand, only squeezing tighter in response to the judgemental gaze of students, the elderly, and anyone else who dared glance at Ronan Lynch. From this progressed Ronan suddenly seizing Adam and kissing him against a wall as they walked through Henrietta’s streets, stopping only to whirl around towards the hoots of schoolboys crossing the road, quickly silenced at the fierceness of Ronan’s expression. Adam had come to see the true Ronan, beneath the layers of brash arrogance and standoffishness; he saw a boy; always scared, always running right towards his terror to confront it. If Ronan was terrified to be seen to be with him in public, then he was damn well going to kiss Adam in the middle of the street. Which is why Ronan only clenched Adam’s fingers tighter as they stood outside Oscar’s dorm room, the four occupants unabashedly gaping at them both.

 

“Well,” Ronan drawled, “I guess you’re the poor shitbags Adam latched onto in my absence.” 

Adam sighed. “Please excuse Ronan, he’s never been taught manners.” Noticing that his friends were still staring at them in silence, Adam shifted, uncomfortable. “Are… Are you guys… ok?”

Becca recovered her voice. “We – we thought you were dating the President guy. The – the one with the glasses and brown hair, in your photo.”

Adam choked. “You thought I was dating _Gansey_?”

Ronan, a look of pure glee spreading across his face, dropped Adam’s hand to laugh, hard. “What did you call him? President guy? Oh, Gansey’s going to love this…” He said.

Ben stood up. “Well, I made fifty dollars off the bet, so I guess I should thank you.” He reached out to shake Ronan’s hand briefly, but quickly dropped it when Ronan’s expression made it clear he did not shake hands.

Adam was once again flushed red. “You – you _bet_ on the identity of my boyfriend?” He whirled on Ben. “Why didn’t you just _ask_?”

Elijah grinned. “This was way more fun. Although I am struggling to see why a guy who looks like an Irish hitman is so invested in cows. But no judgement, man.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow at Adam. “You told them about the cows?" 

“I mentioned it to Ben in passing – are we not dwelling on the fact my friends were betting on me?” Adam retorted.

“Technically, love, they were betting on _me_.” Ronan corrected, the endearment falling from his lips sarcastic but true.

Becca coughed loudly. “Anyway, we’ll… go get a coffee or something. Let you guys… catch up.” She motioned for the rest of the group to get up, winking at Adam as they exited the room. “Have fun, you two.”

 

Adam turned to his boyfriend, despair at his flatmates’ antics raging with poorly-concealed amusement on his face. “God, I’m sorry about them. I didn’t realise they were… I didn’t think they would…” He gave up, looking up to see Ronan’s reaction to the situation.

Ronan simply shrugged, an expansive gesture, and Adam was momentarily transfixed by the way his muscles rolled beneath the black tank top, reminded of the raw power rippling beneath his skin, and of the times his mouth had kissed his way down his boyfriend’s chest, and felt him practically vibrate in response, and he had known the truth that Ronan was both fierce and gentle, a tide of barely-restrained passion roiling beneath him as he let Adam take him apart, again and again, until the tide surged and swallowed them both whole with the force of it.

His moment of reverie was quickly brought to a screeching halt by the sound of Elijah’s door slamming shut as Ronan closed it with more force than strictly necessary. Adam had become almost used to Ronan’s love of causing noise, the louder and more cacophonous the better, but after a couple weeks without it he found himself jumping a little. Ronan noticed, as he always noticed, and a half-smile formed on his lips. “Are you going to show me your own room now, or are we sleeping in the fucking hallway?” He asked, his dry tone undercut by the action of his fingers reaching to brush a few strands of hair out of Adam’s eyes in an easy gesture.

Adam did not deign this with a verbal response, but just turned to unlock the door to the right of his friend’s room. He took Ronan’s hand once more and led him into the room, guiding him to the bed and pushing him gently to sit on the bed as the door closed behind them. Adam took a deep breath, drinking in the sight of his love, finally before him the flesh, before bracing his arms against Ronan's shoulders and sliding his legs around Ronan’s to straddle him. He cocooned himself around his boyfriend, one hand sliding down his back as the other came up to run his fingers through Ronan’s stubborn black stubble of hair. Finally, Adam rested his forehead against Ronan’s. “I love you.” He whispered, and then slowly brought his lips to meet Ronan’s.

“Loser.” Ronan breathed.

 


End file.
